A Very Mycroft Christmas
by SeenaC
Summary: A special Christmas story, based in my universe.  It is from Mycroft's POV, but has all our friends in it, as well as some of my OCs.  Some adult content, but nothing explicit.  Finally finished! Feedback is cherished...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**This story is similar to "Esurientes Implevit Bonis" in that it is from Mycroft's POV. Just a little Christmas story I wrote for fun and includes most of the major characters from BBC's Sherlock, plus a few of my OCs introduced earlier in my series. Happy Christmas all!

**Warnings:**m/m pairings and some adult subject matter, but no explicit content.

**Beta:**Jarri Scythe - please send her happy thoughts for finals week!

A Very Mycroft Christmas

Mycroft Holmes awakened early on December 24th feeling very content with himself and the world. He spent a few moments luxuriating in his warm, comfortable bed before getting up. He reviewed his plans for the next few days, and reflected on the successes of his plans so far.

Very few would suspect it, and not even the most gruesome torture would make him admit it aloud, but Mycroft knew himself to be deeply sentimental in nature. Because of this, he was glowing with satisfaction over the achievement of having engineered a Christmastide that had every possibility of being the most happy and satisfying of his life since his mother's murder.

His son and the boy's mother were now living with him full time, and the arrangement was so far working out beautifully. Sherlock was now happily involved with John Watson, and their relationship seemed to have a most promising future. They would be coming over late in the evening, after the Christmas Eve service Sherlock still insisted on attending every year. They would be accompanied by John's sister Harriet, who was staying with them temporarily whilst finishing a semi-supervised alcohol rehabilitation program. They were all three going to spend the night in order to participate in Christmas morning with Mycroft's son Tim.

For the first time since moving into his house, Mycroft would have every bedroom occupied that night. It filled his heart with a feeling of warmth and satisfaction which was difficult to define. It wouldn't be tolerable to have a crowded house for an extended time, but Mycroft felt a deep happiness in successfully gathering all those he cherished to him to celebrate for these few days.

Christmas dinner tomorrow would see the party grow even larger with the addition of Sherlock and John's landlady Mrs. Hudson and the unexpected, but very welcome presence of Detective Inspector Lestrade. It was Lestrade who was going to pick Mrs. Hudson up from Baker Street and bring her to Mycroft's, as John and Sherlock would already be here. Apparently John had discovered that both Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade were going to be left alone for Christmas, and had appealed to Mycroft to remedy the situation, which Mycroft was happy to do.

Mycroft burrowed a little more deeply into his pillows as he thought about the silver-haired detective inspector. Having Lestrade for Christmas dinner was something he looked forward to, but felt just the tiniest bit conflicted over. Because, as much as he found Lestrade attractive and would love to spend more time with him, lately Margaret had been occupying much of Mycroft's thoughts.

There were her obvious attractive qualities: she was physically beautiful; she was an excellent mother to Tim and very intelligent - with a quick wit and warm heart. Possibly most bewitching, however, was her recent change of attitude toward Mycroft. Once Mycroft had taken John's wise advice and backed away, Margaret had come to _him._

The turnaround had really been quite quick. Looking with hindsight, it really was not so surprising. Margaret's father had dominated her life. Now that he was gone, Mycroft had come along as a fairly suitable replacement. It was almost a little frightening, when looked at objectively, how quickly Margaret had come to trust and depend on a man who had been a complete stranger mere months before.

This left Mycroft with a bit of a sweet quandary. He had himself quickly grown to love his son as much as any father, which left him of course pre-disposed to feel affection toward the mother. But was it right for him to claim her? Even if she wished to be his? She was so much younger, and had made very few of her own choices in her life so far.

Mycroft closed his eyes and breathed deep, calming breaths. Here, in the brutal honesty of his mind, he freely admitted that the role of father/lover to Margaret was very exciting. Mycroft supposed it was "wrong" of him to feel that way, but if it made both Margaret and him happy, was there real harm? It had been a struggle his entire adult life to stitch together the family Mycroft finally now had. It was a bizarre and wounded series of relationships and circumstances that bonded these legacies of the Galton Society. No one had the right to judge them, decided Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled, and got out of bed. As he collected his clothes and showered he continued to reflect on how much becoming a "family man" had changed him. He was so thankful that he had found Tim and Margaret, in spite of the heavy burden of knowledge about the Society that came with them. There were certain aspects that Mycroft hadn't shared even with Sherlock. Like the participation of the Moriarty family, for instance. Some things that even he, himself, refused to pursue. Such as the unsettling physical similarity of Sherlock and Margaret. If Tim was the product of inbreeding between the two families, Mycroft decided that in some cases, ignorance was indeed bliss. After all, there was nothing to be done now, none of this had been his choice. Mycroft had Tim examined by top experts in all fields and was deemed to be perfectly healthy. That was all Mycroft needed to know.

_I __never __thought __I __would __see __a __day __when __there __was __something __I __**wouldn't **__want __to __know,_ mused Mycroft as he scrubbed his back with his long-handled loofah.

As he completed his shower and dressed, Mycroft continued to puzzle over his simultaneous attraction to both Margaret and Lestrade. Which would be a more suitable choice for all parties concerned? He eventually shelved the issue to be considered later. Right now, he had baking to do.

Mycroft spend a very pleasant Christmas Eve with his son and Margaret, all working together in the kitchen for tomorrow's Christmas dinner. The biggest task was assembling the small army of mince pies. Mycroft was determined that each member of the party would have their own small pie.

While Mycroft put together the filling, Tim and Margaret worked on putting the bottom crusts in the little tins. Once the pies were in the oven, it was time to get to work on the red-currant jelly. This ended up being a much longer process than in previous years and by the end Tim had a suspicious red stain around his mouth.

Eventually, however all was completed. The only things left were the items Mycroft would need to cook tomorrow: the magnificent goose, the potatoes to roast along with the vegetables, and then assembling the trifle. The Christmas pudding had been setting for weeks already, and tomorrow Mycroft would douse it in brandy and light it just before serving.

The meal appeared to be shaping just as Mycroft had planned and he reflected that having his two helpers in the kitchen may have slowed the process, but made it much more enjoyable. Watching Tim bustle importantly about his assigned tasks brought Mycroft innumerable memories of his own single-digit years, helping Mummy in the kitchen. He got dangerously close to becoming downright misty at times.

The worst was when he discovered Margaret watching him swallow around the lump in his throat. She gave him a glowing smile and came and hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. He buried his face in her hair and reminded himself that he was _Mycroft __Bloody __Holmes_! And not susceptible to maudlin sentimentality.

He needed to pull himself together before the arrival of Sherlock, or his brother would spot his emotional state and there would be no end to his merciless mockery.

Mycroft hummed happily to himself as he washed up in the kitchen while Margaret and Tim went to make sure the guest rooms were ready.

This Christmas would indeed be much better than all those years with just himself and Sherlock. Those events had largely consisted of grim silence punctuated by verbal jousting.

This year would be different. This year the Holmes brothers would be part of a family.

To be continued...

A/N: This is getting longer than I originally thought, so at least one more chapter to come...


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Apologies for the delay in updating. I had a series of both fortunate and unfortunate events that have interrupted my writing. Obviously, with the new "Sherlock" series, my series of stories is officially AU now, but I wanted to finish both this and "Trouble with Harry" before beginning a new series of "Sherlock" stories.

A Very Mycroft Christmas - 2

Sherlock, John, and Harry arrived late in the evening, after the Christmas Eve service. Their appearance had Mycroft quickly revising his expectations of how the remainder of the evening would go. Sherlock was clearly in an emotionally fragile state, and liable to either explode with fury or retreat into a dramatic sulk.

Mycroft couldn't understand why Sherlock continued to torture himself by going to the church service every year. Mycroft himself had resolutely refused to set foot in any church since Mummy's murder - the event that strongly indicated to Mycroft that any supposed deity certainly took no interest in involving itself with the creatures on Earth. Mycroft's previous attempts to dissuade his brother from continuing the yearly practice had been greeted with snarling, so he had ceased bringing it up.

Mycroft was a bit apprehensive when Tim ran up to the new arrivals. He had insisted on waiting up for Uncle Sherlock, Uncle John, and Aunt Harry to arrive in order to wish them happy Christmas. But much to Mycroft's relief, Sherlock seemed happy to greet his nephew and even went so far as to scoop up the giggling boy and carry him back into the warm, fire-lit sitting room with the huge Christmas tree.

Greetings were exchanged amongst the five adults, and then Margaret announced that it was bedtime for Tim.

John looked at Sherlock and said, "Well, it is almost midnight, Sherlock and I should probably think about going to bed as well. We're all getting up early tomorrow, right?"

And so there was a general agreement that everyone would retire. Mycroft showed Sherlock, John, and Harry to their rooms while Margaret and Tim went to their rooms. After Mycroft had seen the guests settled, he walked back toward Margaret and Tim's rooms where he heard Margaret singing Brahms' _Lullaby_ to Tim, as she did every night.

As the sounds of tooth-brushing, footsteps, and closing doors subsided, Mycroft took his customary final tour of the house. It was a habit he'd developed years before, but now that he safeguarded more than just himself, it had taken on additional meaning. He paced the house, testing all the windows and doors, checking the alarm system, and making his final call to Anthea that there was nothing that needed his immediate attention.

His final stop was back in the sitting room where he disassembled the fire, sipping brandy while he waited for the flames to subside into coals. The house settled into silence. Mycroft settled in his chair, watching the slowly dying fire. He suddenly realized that he was smiling absently. He couldn't recall the last time that had happened.

The next morning Mycroft was awakened by a small body bouncing excitedly on his stomach. Tim was excitedly proclaiming it to be Christmas morning and past time to be opening presents. Margaret followed closely behind, half-heartedly scolding Tim for raising an early ruckus.

Mycroft joined in by telling Tim that his punishment was that he had to eat breakfast before opening any presents.

By the time Tim had been dressed and fed, the other occupants of the house had roused and gathered in the sitting room for the morning's gift exchange. As usual, Mycroft was much more interested in the reaction his gifts to others would bring than in opening the ones they had given to him.

To Tim he had given a simply obscene number of gifts of every description: clothes, toys, books, sheet music for his recorder, and sweets of every kind. Margaret had fussed a bit, when she saw the mountain of brightly wrapped packages, and said that Mycroft was going to turn her son into a spoiled brat. Mycroft had countered that he had five previous Christmases to atone for, and stressed that he had no intention of letting Tim become a selfish monster.

Mycroft smiled to himself as he built up the fire, listening to Tim's excited cries as he tore into the stack with enthusiasm. He seemed to be enchanted with everything, and was soon wearing an assortment of hats, jumpers, and several layers of socks while attempting to steal a sample of the different candies, while his mother tried to confiscate them for later, more regulated consumption.

To Harry, Mycroft had given a generous gift certificate to her favorite clothing store. Harry held it with trembling hands and asked, "How?" before her throat clogged.

John raised his hand, "I told him."

Mycroft smiled at Harry and said, "A new life calls for a new wardrobe, don't you think?"

John opened the card addressed to himself and Sherlock from Mycroft. It contained travel vouchers for a luxury cruise of the Greek islands, to be redeemed at a time of their choosing. While John's eyes shone, Sherlock shot Mycroft a dirty look. Sherlock hated the sun, and any form of so-called "leisure activity."

Mycroft smiled blandly back at his brother.

"All right, it's time for Mycroft to open his presents," announced Margaret as she handed him some packages.

The first one was from her. Mycroft could tell by the feel that it was a large book of some kind. He unwrapped it to find a cookery book devoted to desserts. It was quite lengthy and lavishly illustrated with photographs that could easily fall under the category of "food porn."

After flipping through it quickly Mycroft noticed that Margaret had left a personal inscription, "Life is too short to forego the sweet. Hoping I'll get to sample some. Happy Christmas, XO - M."

Mycroft looked up in surprise, and Margaret actually winked at him! He felt himself flush. What was happening to him? Mycroft smiled back, a little stunned and breathless. Margaret leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

"Mycroft Holmes? Flustered? It's a Christmas miracle!"

"Naughty girl," he murmured back with a smile.

She handed him another package.

"From John and Sherlock," she said.

It was a large, rectangular box, but was not very heavy. It turned out to be the board game "Risk."

He shot Sherlock a look, and they both burst out laughing. Sherlock came over and perched on the arm of his brother's chair.

"Well, Mycroft, what shall we do tonight?"

"The same thing we do every night, dear brother, try to take over the world!"

TBC

**A/N:** Yes, it's an obvious "Pinky and the Brain" reference. It just seems like the kind of cartoon the Holmes brothers would appreciate. The gift-giving and other festivities have not ended yet. More in the next chapter...


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm still finding it difficult to find time to squeeze in writing. Updates will probably continue to be painfully slow. I am focusing on finishing this Christmas story, and then I will finish up "The Trouble with Harry." If you haven't already, please take a look at Khorazir's most recent work on her tumblr account, including one from my story, "A Night at the Symphony," which she used as Day 25 of her deliciously delightful Advent Calendar.

**Warnings:** Adult themes, but nothing explicit.

**Disclaimer: ** Still not mine.

**Beta:** The very patient and talented Jarri Scythe! I'd be lost without my Beta!

A Very Mycroft Christmas - 3

After Mycroft had set aside the game of _Risk_, Tim gave his father a sheaf of papers tied gaily with red and green ribbons. Mycroft was a bit startled; he hadn't expected a gift from his son but accepted the bundle with surprised joy.

After untying the ribbons, the papers revealed themselves as a piece of music for solo recorder, composed by Tim. The boy laughed delightedly at Mycroft's stunned expression and trotted over to where he'd hidden his recorder. He proceeded to play the piece for everyone and was met with thunderous applause at the end. Mycroft was seriously concerned that he was going to shed tears in front of others for the first time since he was ten years old.

It was a fairly simple piece, reminiscent of Mozart's _Serenade #12 in C Minor_, but Mycroft had never heard anything lovelier. After a round of hugs and kisses from his mummy and daddy, Tim nodded to his uncles who suddenly produced their instruments as well.

_I didn't know John played_, Mycroft mused as John and Sherlock tuned their clarinet and violin respectively.

The trio then played a medley of familiar Christmas carols which was enthusiastically cheered by Harry, Margaret, and Mycroft at its conclusion.

Once the concert had concluded Mycroft produced his gift to Margaret, a package that was much the same size and shape as the one she had given him. She unwrapped it to find a book on medieval gardens and how to design and care for them. Margaret looked at Mycroft, clearly stunned.

"How? How did you know? I never said anything!"

Mycroft smiled, "I know everything, my dear. Come with me, there's more."

He rose from his chair and took her hand and led her out the back of the house to the back garden.

The tarp that had obscured the corner of the yard for the last several weeks was gone, replaced by a little potting shed constructed of ancient, lichen covered stones. Inside were plenty of shelves, counters, bins, and a utility sink.

"I didn't buy much actual equipment. I thought you might want to choose your own tools and such," Mycroft explained to a temporarily speechless Margaret.

"You have a line of credit at the local grower's supply. If they don't have whatever you might need, they can special order it for you. I made sure ahead of time..." Mycroft trailed off, a little disconcerted by Margaret's continuing silence.

"I hope everything is to your satisfaction," he continued after a pause, "if there's anything else you need...er...let me know."

Margaret shook herself, turned to Mycroft, "You told me that tarp was up because you had men working on the drains!"

"Yes, well, I wanted to surprise you. Builders putting together a potting shed would have given it away, I think."

"Mycroft...I don't know what to say."

"Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Margaret's lip trembled, before she burst into tears and all but threw herself at him.

Mycroft made soothing noises as he stroked her hair and waited for her to calm down. He handed her his handkerchief.

"Mycroft," she said, once she was able, "you don't have to do this. I'm not...I don't expect...It's bad enough that you feed me and house me. I didn't have Tim in order to get at your money."

"Of course not, silly girl, I tracked you down, remember?"

"I know but...I just don't want you to think...that is...I'm not your...responsibility."

"Margaret, I assure you. I, in no way, think of you as a burden."

"But you didn't...choose me."

Mycroft held her a little closer, "You didn't choose me, either."

She gave a little chuckle, "No, but my father did. Without your knowledge or consent. I really am sorry. I had no idea he was even capable of doing such a thing."

"I don't hold you responsible for his actions."

They were quiet and still against each other for a few moments.

Finally, Margaret stirred and raised her face to his, "Thank you, Mycroft."

"Happy Christmas, Margaret," he replied.

They smiled at each other, then Margaret drew away and wiped at her eyes.

"We'd best go back inside before everyone starts to wonder what's happened to us."

Mycroft looked at his watch, "Yes, I believe Mrs. Hudson and Detective Inspector Lestrade will be arriving shortly. I need to get things sorted in the kitchen."

Mycroft enlisted John's assistance, and together they were kept busy for the next hour putting all the finishing touches on the Christmas Dinner. When all was ready, they both stood back and sighed in satisfaction, everything had turned out perfectly.

Mycroft emerged from the dining room to find that Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson had arrived some time ago. Lestrade and Margaret were chatting and sipping wine by the fire. Harry and Sherlock were putting together Tim's model of the solar system that he'd received that morning from his Uncle John. But what stopped Mycroft in his tracks was the sight of Tim sitting in Mrs. Hudson's lap as he showed her his music manuscript.

Tim tended to be quite shy with strangers, and he had never met Mrs. Hudson before. Mycroft shook his head, the woman was a wonder. He happened to catch Margaret's eye and he could read her thoughts as they were the same as his own. _He's never had a grandmother._ They smiled complicated, bittersweet smiles at each other.

Mycroft went over to Mrs. Hudson and Tim and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek which she returned. After exchanging greetings and compliments he moved over to the fireplace to greet Lestrade. Mycroft was trying to ignore that little fluttery sensation in his abdomen he always got around the detective.

Margaret saw him approaching and excused herself.

Mycroft noticed Lestrade's warm smile and appreciative tracking of her departure. Mycroft felt a twinge of jealousy which was aggravated by not knowing exactly who he was jealous over.

"Happy Christmas, Detective Inspector," he said smoothly, extending his hand.

"Greg, please, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade responded with a friendly smile and a firm handshake.

"Mycroft, then Greg," Mycroft responded, extending the shake just a fraction of a second longer than was necessary.

"Thanks so much for inviting me. I hear your Christmas dinners are not to be missed."

Mycroft inclined his head modestly and replied, "I just feel fortunate to be able to gather so many of my loved ones together this year. I see that you've met Margaret."

Lestrade's eyes lit up just a bit suspiciously, but then he quickly covered it up with a cautious look, "Yes, and I met your son as well."

Lestrade paused for a brief moment, apparently searching for something appropriate and complimentary, "You, ah, have a lovely and - interesting family."

Mycroft could see that Lestrade was trying to figure out all the relationships and dynamics in play. _Good luck, my dear fellow, and if you succeed maybe you could enlighten me!_

What Mycroft said aloud was, "Thank you; we are a bit - unique. We certainly aren't normal."

Lestrade made a slight scoffing noise, "Well, normal is often overrated. I've done normal. You know, getting married, getting divorced. I have to say, I can't recommend it."

Lestrade finished with a slightly bitter twist to his lips and glanced a little sheepishly back at Mycroft.

Mycroft gave him his warmest smile, "Then you'll fit right in with us."

And then, he winked at Lestrade. It happened before he even realized he was going to do it. For a moment, Mycroft was simply in shock. He had never winked at anyone his entire life. He didn't even know he knew how to do it.

But, the slightly mischievous smile he got in return made it well worth it.

"Everyone! Dinner is served!" Mycroft announced to the room.

TBC!

**A/N:** I am going to shamelessly beg for reviews. Please, do consider dropping me a line. Good or bad, happy or sad...


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Finally! Here is the final chapter. Sorry it took so long. Please read my note at the end.

A Very Mycroft Christmas – 4

Mycroft led everyone into the dining room with a trace of apprehension. He had been worrying over the seating arrangements at his large rectangular table for days. He had pondered just about every configuration of the guests but none of them satisfied him. Finally, he went and purchased a circular table just for this particular dinner. It eliminated the need for someone to sit at the opposite end of the table from him, a position he hadn't been able to satisfactorily fill in his mind.

The circular table allowed him to position people much more comfortably and equably, much like the legendary table of King Arthur.

Everyone was happy and relaxed and the conversation flowed over a range of topics as the dishes Mycroft had labored over were devoured.

As the meal was winding down, Sherlock's phone chimed. Both Mycroft and John frowned a bit at Sherlock for not having respected the meal enough to silence his phone. Sherlock gave them each a look of defiance and pulled out his phone and looked at it. He looked briefly shocked, before putting it away with a pleased smile and blush. Mycroft saw John straining to look at the message, then after having seen it, looked positively thunderous. He gave Sherlock a steely-eyed glance that spelled trouble.

Mycroft could think of only one person that could be contacting Sherlock that would make John so angry: Moriarty.

A few minutes later everyone was getting up from the table, and John practically hauled Sherlock from the dining room by the scruff of his neck.

Mycroft and the rest of the adults had the table cleared and the leftovers put away by the time the two of them reappeared looking a bit rumpled and flushed. Captain Watson was swaggering confidently, followed by a meek and slightly agitated Sherlock.

Mycroft's skilled eye quickly determined that, while some serious snogging had been going on, there hadn't been anything more. They were both left in a state of high arousal, clearly John's intention. Mycroft smirked at Sherlock, who attempted to sneer back, but failed miserably. Mycroft knew at least one thing Sherlock would be getting for Christmas, and he'd be lucky to be able to sit comfortably by New Year's Eve.

Once everyone had their after-dinner drinks in hand (Harry had coffee) they congregated around the Risk game. Mrs. Hudson quickly offered to play with Tim while the rest of the adults played.

The beginning of the game went as Mycroft predicted. The first one eliminated was Margaret; her heart simply wasn't in it.

"I like to cooperate, not compete," she said with a smile and a shrug as Sherlock defeated the last of her armies.

Next to go was Harry, although she made a valiant effort and tried a desperate last stand on Madagascar. After Lestrade finished her, she shrugged philosophically and said it was the best showing she'd ever made. She then went back to working on the model of the solar system that she and Sherlock had been working on earlier.

That left Mycroft, Sherlock, John and Lestrade. Both John and Lestrade turned out to be better players than Mycroft had anticipated. As a result, the game went on for several more hours with gains and losses governed more by chance than strategy.

Mycroft became aware of Margaret's presence over his shoulder, watching the game unfold. He looked around to see that Mrs. Hudson and Harry conversing on the couch, Tim was nowhere to be seen.

"I put him to bed, he was done in," Margaret answered his unspoken question. Mycroft glanced at his watch and was startled to see the hour.

He offered to send Mrs. Hudson and Harry home in his car, an offer they gratefully accepted. By the time Mycroft's driver arrived, Harry was packed up and Margaret provided both Harry and Mrs. Hudson with generous portions of leftovers.

Once they had gone, John began mysteriously losing and within 30 minutes was out. He lingered by the board as Margaret was, and began giving Sherlock pointed looks. After some time Sherlock finally huffed in annoyance and began losing as well. The difference was he lost much more slowly, and each time he lost he managed to strengthen Lestrade's position.

By the time Sherlock finally gave his final bow Mycroft was at a definite disadvantage. Sherlock gave a satisfied smirk that indicated that he certainly didn't feel the loss. Mycroft shot him a look that communicated that he knew exactly what Sherlock's intentions were.

John and Sherlock were packed up and ready to leave very quickly, and Sherlock adamantly refused to accept the offer of Mycroft's car, saying that they would call a cab.

There was another round of goodbyes and well-wishes, and the last glimpse Mycroft caught of the couple was of John taking a decidedly possessive grasp of Sherlock's arm as they went out the door.

Inwardly, Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief. The poorly disguised sexual tension between the two of them had started to put his teeth on edge. Now he could truly relax and focus on the game.

Mycroft and Lestrade went back to their battle, with Margaret continuing to observe as she sipped her wine. It took some time, but Mycroft began to recover from the position Sherlock had put him in, and a long campaign began against an unexpectedly subtle and skilled opponent. Without other players to distract, Mycroft began to fully appreciate the patience and resolve Lestrade had as a player.

They battled across continents, islands, and oceans as the clock ticked on and on. They sipped their brandies, pursed their lips, as they stared at the map of the world and their scattered armies, planning their next assault on the other.

Mycroft was so absorbed that he gave a slight jump when he heard a soft snore behind him. He turned around to see that at some point Margaret had fallen asleep on the couch.

He quickly got up and fetched a throw to put over her and returned back to the game and Lestrade, who was smiling warmly at him.

"She's a lovely girl," Lestrade said.

Mycroft glanced back over to her, a sudden, odd pain in his heart.

"Yes, she is," he agreed.

"Margaret told me a brief outline of your situation….it's a hell of a story, Mycroft," Lestrade continued quietly.

"It most certainly is."

Mycroft found himself at a loss to add anything further.

After a slight pause, Lestrade went on, "What father would do such a thing to his daughter? He knew he was dying – to make her have a baby so young, knowing she would be all alone…and then to violate your patient rights and privacy…It's just crazy. And I'm used to seeing all kinds of fucked-up shit in my line of work."

Mycroft arched a brow at him in surprise.

Lestrade blushed, "Sorry, I think I've had a bit too much wine. My language filters are offline. And, I'll stay out of your personal business, as it's none of mine."

"I assure you, I've taken no offense. It's very kind of you to sympathize with my situation."

Mycroft could see Lestrade relax at his words.

"Good, I'm glad," he said, giving Mycroft another heart-tugging smile.

After a few seconds of silence, Mycroft gestured at the game board, "Should we continue?"

Lestrade rubbed his face tiredly and replied, "I dunno, Mycroft. I think I'm about to collapse. I should think about calling a cab. Can we call it a draw?"

"Of course! But please, let me put you up for the night; I have plenty of room. I can put you in either of the spare bedrooms and changing the sheets can be done in just a minute. It will be much better than waiting for a cab and having a chilly ride home."

Lestrade smiled again, almost shyly, "Well, as long as you're sure it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Mycroft waved, "Nonsense! What's the sense of having guest rooms without friends to fill them with?"

He continued in a slightly lower pitch, using one of his more charming smiles, "Please don't make me a stranger, Greg."

"All right then, show me where you want me and I'll help you make the bed."

They went upstairs and Greg stripped the bed in what had been Harry's room while Mycroft got clean linens. Together they had the bed remade in just a few minutes. Mycroft then brought Greg a pair of his pajamas, a robe, slippers, and a new toothbrush.

"My goodness, Mycroft, you should run a B&B!" Greg smiled, as he took the armload from Mycroft.

Mycroft shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious, "I don't want anyone in my home to lack for any comfort I can provide."

There was another loud silence, and both men were blushing.

Mycroft cleared his throat, "Well, I better see that Margaret gets to bed safely. Er, I'll cook breakfast in the morning, but if you need to leave early, feel free to help yourself to anything before you leave."

"Thanks, Mycroft. Thanks for your generosity and hospitality. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Greg."

Mycroft walked back downstairs and sat on the couch by Margaret's waist. The motion roused her and she gave Mycroft a sleepy smile.

"You guys finish the game?"

"No, we called it a draw. I put him in one of the bedrooms upstairs. I wanted to make sure you didn't stay here all night and get stiff or chilled."

"Thanks, Myc," she smiled and sat up, then looked at him again, more intently this time.

"Myc? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, my dear. Why do you ask?"

"Now I know something's wrong. You've never called me 'dear' before – ever."

Mycroft smiled at her a bit guiltily.

Margaret flopped back along the couch and looked up at Mycroft slyly.

"It's Greg, isn't it?"

Mycroft didn't answer.

After a few seconds of silence, Margaret went on softly, "Don't let me stop you from having something you want."

The two of them looked at each other, and in that moment Mycroft discovered that he was able to communicate wordlessly with her in much the same way that he was able to do with Sherlock.

In a long moment of silence, they showed each other their doubts, uncertainties, worries, and desires. Mycroft then took one of her hands in his.

"Margaret, I just want you to know that whatever….arrangement you and I settle on, you will always come first, no matter what."

Margaret began to protest, "Myc, you can't – "

"No, you and Tim will always be my top priority. I don't resent that – I never will. I know it's an unbearable cliché, but you've given me the most precious gift I've ever received and I will always treasure you. So if you're ever unhappy – about anything – I need for you to tell me."

"Thanks, Myc," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

Mycroft felt a suspicious prickling in his own.

"Come on, then," he said gently tugging her up by the hand, "nothing needs to be decided whilst we're all tipsy and emotional. We'll have plenty of time to give these matters sober deliberation and come to a well-considered decision – which can be changed at any time anyway."

Margaret laughed and allowed herself to be led to her bedroom. At the door, she suddenly leaned up and gave Mycroft a quick, chaste kiss on the lips.

"Happy Christmas, Myc."

"Happy Christmas, Meg."

Margaret gave a startled, but delighted laugh, and Mycroft chuckled back.

It was a very happy Christmas, indeed.

THE END!

A/N: Thanks so much to ALL my readers, but I want to take this opportunity to send special thanks to the following awesome people: First, my fabulous beta JARRI SCYTHE! I couldn't have done this without you sweetie! Very special thanks to KHORAZIR for immortalizing selected scenes from my series. Each one made me cry tears of joy! Special thanks also to those who helped me along this journey with their helpful reviews, criticism, insights, and encouragement: EMMA DE LOS NARDOS, JUSTINE LARK, LADYOSCAR23. There are many also who I would like to give special thanks to for being faithful readers and reviewers. This is an incomplete list, and it could be much longer: Garonne, IBegToDreamAndDiffer, Zonya, AstraeaAegle, Asbeth, annabelleaurelius, MrsCumberbatch, xelectrogirlx, krystal89, Mirith Griffin, The Red Leper, Sidney Sussex, endsoftime, Mercy Flynn, and finally Sister Raven, for encouraging me at the very beginning of this odyssey. As, I said, incomplete – I want all of you to know that I read every one of your reviews and treasured all feedback I received. I will go back and finish "The Trouble with Harry," I promise! I am also currently working on a case-fic in honor of Khorazir. Once those are done, I will begin a new series of Sherlock stories that will be series 2 compliant! Hugs and kisses to all!


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